Page 23 of The Dating Coach (Hearts on Ice #4)

"I need help with physics," I announced, standing in Liam's doorway on a Thursday evening, textbook clutched to my chest like armor.

He looked up from his architecture portfolio, one eyebrow raised. "You're not taking physics this semester."

"Next semester," I clarified, stepping into his room. "I like to prepare early. Get ahead of potential problems."

"Uh-huh." He said, leaning back in his chair, arms crossed, fighting a smile. "And this has nothing to do with the fact that you miss our tutoring sessions?"

"Don't be ridiculous," I said, even as heat crept up my neck. "This is purely academic. A business arrangement, if you will."

"A business arrangement," he repeated slowly. "Like our original deal?"

"Exactly like that." I set the physics book on his desk with unnecessary force. "You help me with science, I help you with... things."

"Things?" His smile widened. "What kind of things would those be?"

"Dating things," I said firmly, ignoring how ridiculous it sounded. "You clearly still need practice."

"Do I?" He stood, moving closer with that predatory grace that made my pulse skip. "What areas need improvement?"

"Well," I said, fidgeting with my hands, "your conversation skills could use work. You tend to get distracted easily."

"Distracted?" He smiled. "By what?"

"Various... things," I managed, very aware of how good he looked in that henley, how it stretched across his chest.

"Be specific," he murmured, his voice dropping lower. "I'm a very dedicated student. I need detailed feedback."

"You're mocking me," I accused.

"Never," he said solemnly, but his eyes danced with laughter. "I take my education very seriously. Now, about these dating skills I apparently lack..."

"Fine," I conceded, looking away to break the intensity of his gaze. "Maybe you don't need practice. But I do have that physics class next semester, and—"

"Gemma," he interrupted gently. "You don't need excuses to spend time with me. You know that, right?"

"I know. I just... This is new for me. Being with someone without a crisis to manage or a problem to solve. I don't know how to just... relax and be myself."

"Then we'll figure it out together," he said simply. "Starting with dinner. Real dinner, not leftover pizza or Frank's experimental cooking."

“Like a date?” I asked quickly. “Not a real one, obviously—more like a practice run. To work on your dating skills."

"Exactly like a practice date. I definitely need more practice." He grabbed his jacket, then paused. "Unless you need to review physics first? I'd hate to interfere with your very urgent academic preparation."

I threw a pillow at him.

An hour later, we sat in Bellissimo, the kind of restaurant that required reservations and didn't have prices on the menu. I'd protested the expense, but Liam had insisted, saying something about "proper practice" and "realistic dating scenarios."

"This is too much," I said for the third time, gesturing at the elegant table settings and soft lighting.

"Nothing is too much for proper dating education," he countered, then grinned. "Besides, I've been saving my tutoring money. Oh wait, you never paid me."

"I paid in dating lessons," I reminded him.

"Which I'm apparently still failing," he said, eyes twinkling. "Maybe we should review. How's my eye contact?"

He stared at me with exaggerated intensity until I burst out laughing.

"Ridiculous," I declared. "Your eye contact is ridiculous. Real dates don't involve staring contests."

“How about active listening?” He leaned in like a caricature of attentiveness. “Tell me about your day. I promise to nod thoughtfully and say things like ‘Mmm, interesting.’”

But the funny thing was—he actually listened.

I found myself actually telling him – about my morning swim practice, the lab report that had taken hours, Mia's excitement about her meeting with the admissions counselor.

He listened with genuine interest, asking questions, remembering details from previous conversations.

"See?" he said when I finished. "Excellent active listening skills. What's my grade, Professor Spears?"

"B+," I decided. "Points deducted for that smug smile. Real dates shouldn't feel like performances."

"Harsh but fair." He reached across the table, taking my hand. "How about physical affection? Appropriate levels of PDA for a first date?"

"In public?" I glanced around the restaurant, trying to ignore how warm his hand felt. "That's very advanced dating behavior. Most first dates don't involve hand-holding."

"I'm an advanced student," he said, thumb stroking over my knuckles in a way that made me shiver.

We managed to stay focused on the lesson through dinner – mostly.

There may have been some inappropriate footsie during dessert when he claimed he was "testing boundaries," and his hand may have wandered higher than strictly necessary on my thigh when he asked about "appropriate restaurant contact," but overall we maintained the pretense of education.

The walk back to campus was where things shifted. The night was cold but clear, stars visible despite the light pollution. Liam walked beside me, hands shoved in his pockets, and I pulled my jacket tighter against the chill.

"I have a confession," I said as we passed the library where so many of our study sessions had taken place.

"Should I be worried?"

"I've been creating study materials for a class I'm not taking," I admitted. "Physics flashcards. Color-coded and everything."

He stopped walking. "You made flashcards for our fake tutoring sessions?"

"I panicked!" I defended. "I needed a legitimate reason to keep seeing you, and my brain defaults to academic preparation when stressed."

Liam shook his head, a smile tugging at his lips. “Gemma, you don’t need an excuse. We’re friends. Spending time together is what friends do."

"Friends," I repeated, the word feeling both safe and somehow insufficient. "That's so... normal."

"Is normal bad?"

"No," I said quickly. "Normal is terrifying. Crisis I can handle. Emergency mode is my comfort zone. But this? Just hanging out and being happy? I keep waiting for something to go wrong."

"Hey." He stopped walking, turning to face me. "Nothing has to go wrong. Sometimes good things just happen and we get to keep them."

"You can't promise that," I whispered.

"No," he agreed. "But I can promise to be here when hard things happen. To help you face them instead of you managing everything alone."

His words landed somewhere deep. I met his eyes, and for a second the air between us felt too heavy, too charged.

Then I stood on tiptoe and kissed him.

It wasn’t planned or dramatic—just a quiet, certain moment. He didn’t hesitate, kissing me back with a mix of surprise and something steadier, something patient.

Neither of us noticed the student walking by until they called, “Get a room!”

We broke apart, laughing, both a little breathless.

"We should probably get back," I said, still smiling.

"Yeah," he said, rubbing the back of his neck.

We kept walking—shoulders still close, steps a little more in sync. Whatever this relationship was becoming, it felt comfortable and easy.

But as we turned the corner, I spotted a familiar figure under the streetlight. Dr. Hartley stood there with his wife, clearly out for an evening walk. There was no avoiding them – we were on a collision course for awkward small talk.

"Gemma!" Dr. Hartley called out, his face warming with genuine pleasure. "What a lovely surprise."

"Professor," I managed, very aware of how close Liam and I had been walking. "Hi. Um, this is—"

"Liam Delacroix," Dr. Hartley finished, surprising me. "Your boyfriend. You mentioned him during office hours." He turned to Liam with an appraising look. "The hockey player who tutored her in chemistry."

I opened my mouth to correct him, but Liam stepped smoothly into the assumption. "That's me," he confirmed, shaking his hand. "Though I think Gemma would have figured it out regardless. She's brilliant."

"Indeed she is," Dr. Hartley agreed. "That makeup exam was one of the best I've seen in years. Whatever study methods you two developed clearly worked."

"We found what motivated her," Liam said, his eyes finding mine with a knowing look.

"Well, don't let us keep you," Mrs. Hartley said with a knowing smile. "Enjoy your evening."

As they walked away, I heard her say quietly, "They're lovely together, aren't they?"

"It rather reminds me of us at that age," Dr. Hartley replied. "Though I don't recall you needing chemistry tutoring."

"No," she laughed. "But you did help me with poetry analysis. Remember? All those late nights in the library..."

Their voices faded, and I let out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding.

I groaned and buried my face in my hands. “Great. Now my chemistry professor thinks we’ve been dating this whole time.”

Liam laughed. “To be fair, we didn’t exactly correct him.”